BBH 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


I 


CRUMPLED  LEAVES 


Crumpled  Leaves 


Verse 

By 
CHRISTINE  HAMILTON  WATSON 


NEW  YORK 

JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,    IQ2I 
JAMES   T.   WHITE   ft   CO. 


PS 


AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

to 
MINERVA  GILLETTE  STACY  WILKIN 

As  blossoms  spring   to   brighten,  dot  and  strew 
Our  daily  path,  so  friendship  has  bestowed 
Its  tender  cheer  and  balm  upon  the  road, 

For  friendship  is  the  flower's  heart  and  thew. 

We  love  these  blossoms  of  the  way!     Those  who 
Love  us — to  whom  a  ivealth  of  joy  is  owed — 
With  witchery  release  our  dreary  load 

And  give  an  inspiration,  dear,  like  you. 

We  roam  among  the  friendship-blossoms  fine 
In  deep  delight :  held  by  their  fragrancy 

We  worship  worth  as  at  a  sacred  shrine, 
And  touch  some  velvet  beauty  reverently. 

From  you,  dear  friend,  round  me,  each  time  I  passed, 

A  rare,  pervading  perfume  seemed  to  last. 


623903 


CONTENTS 

PROEM      13 

EVENING   RHAPSODY    15 

FROST    FOLIAGE    19 

SAILING     21 

CHEER      23 

CONTENT     24 

RETROVERSION    25 

WILD-WIND     26 

WHITHER  ?      28 

IMPEDIMENTS     29 

AGE-OLD  DOORWAYS 30 

THE  COMMON   QUEST    31 

DREAM    DAYS     33 

SQUAW  WINTER 34 

MY   NAMESAKE    35 

BUNNY  BOY 36 

MYSELF    AWAY     38 

FOR  AN   INVALID 39 

RESTRAINT 40 

IRON   CROSSES     42 

"ORA   PRO    NOBIS"    43 

IN    THE   BREAKERS    44 

MIND  UNREST 45 

INTERVALS 46 

EASTER  IN  A  HOSPITAL 47 

ALONG  THE  WAY 49 

CHILD-FAITH       50 

VOICES     51 


CONTENTS— Co  ntinued 

DOUBT 52 

COME  WITH  ME 53 

A  BORROWED  BOOK 54 

A  KING'S  GARDEN 55 

MY  NEIGHBOR'S  GARDEN  57 

MY  GARDEN  IS  MY  THEATRE 60 

MAY   TIME 63 

AN  INTERLUDE   65 

THE  MESSENGER 67 

SO  YOU  ARE  LIGHT  TO  ME '. 68 

"WILL-O'-THE-WISP"    69 

A  CAMP-FIRE  LONG  AGO 70 

WAITING     71 

LOVE'S  REQUEST   72 

LOVE'S  ANSWER 73 

THE  ABSENT  ONE 74 

YOUR  SHADOW    75 

THE  PHANTOM  OF  FEAR 76 

THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 77 

REACTION     78 

TO  A  BROOK 79 

TRANSITION     84 

THE  WINDS  OF  THE  DAWNING 85 

THE  FAIRIES'  PICNIC 86 

OLD  SONGS — RONDEAU  87 

RONDEL  OF  GRATITUDE 88 

THE  LIGHT  89 

A  BALLADE  OF  DOERS  90 


CONTENTS— Continued 

"COUP  DE  GRACE" 92 

FAR  AS  THE  DREAM  OF  SPACE 93 

SUMMER  RAIN    94 

A  GOLDEN  DAY   95 

TO  A  NOVEMBER  ROSE 96 

WISHES     97 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 98 

A    CITY PASSING   GLIMPSE    99 

TO  A  NIGHTHAWK  ON  THE  WING 100 

SOUND  FROM   SILENT   NIGHT    .                                    .  101 


CRUMPLED  LEAVES 


PROEM 

The  crumpled  leaves  of  last  year's  summer  day 
Are  wind-swept  now  and  torn  by  careless  feet; 
Like  battered  old  beliefs  that  strew  the  way, 
Their  worthlessness  is  scorned  in  wise  conceit : 
Yet  once,  consider,  once  they  were  alive ! 
And  for  a  season,  joyous  to  adorn, — 
Contented  idly  to  adorn,  nor  strive 
For  greatness — through  their  life  new  joy  was 

born. 

And  so  a  whispering  grace  lives  in  my  heart 
Through  their  achievement.    Tho  their  year  has 

fled 

Its  never  ending  day  remains  apart, 
And  crumpled  leaves,  wind-blown  afar  and  dead. 
May  still,  upon  life's  keyboard  rustling,  play 
A  soothingly  detached  and  minor  lay! 


13 


CRUMPLED  LEAVES 


EVENING  RAHPSODY 

The  day  is  nearing  night, 

And  I,  alone, 

Lured  by  the  tender  evening  light — 

Within  my  garden  watch  its  flight. 

The  twilight's  calm  and  power  atone 

For  hours  of  dazing  gladness : 

Day's  heartache,  day's  brief  madness, 

Are  gone  and  thoughts  grow  firefly-white. 

The  sod  beneath  my  feet 

Is  soft  as  evening's  hush 

And  dew's  caress : 

Gleaming  flower  petals  crush 

Their  scented  sweet — 

Their  honeyed  hearts — and  press 

Each  other  and  the  drooping  boughs ; 

While  pulsing  summer  air  endows 

The  senses  with  delight  replete 

To  still  the  futile  rush, — 

For  here  I  learn  to  fling  aside 

And  calm  desire  unsatisfied. 


15 


The  pompous  bumble-bee 

Drifts  lazily 

From  flower  to  flower,  in  each  to  dip, 

For  one  more  nectar  sip 

Before  his  day  is  done. 

Moth  wings,  with  fleeting  camraderie 

And  fairy  grace,  alight  on  me, 

And  I,  dream-startled  at  his  fun, 

Mistake  the  whirring  humming-bird, 

Which  dartles  by, 

For  vagrant  sprite,  unduly  shy — 

As  tho  his  heart  were  stirred 

With  sly  conspiracy ! 

Ah,  elfin  forms  I  think  I  see 

From  hidden  leaves  uncurled. 

Is  this  a  real,  or  a  wonder  world? 

The  shadows  fall. 

Earth's  longings  pall, 

And  to  my  spirit 

Gently  sounds  a  distant  call — 

Hark !    Hear  it !     . 

With  city's  hum  and  hurry  far  away, 

The  murmurings  of  twilight  come  to  stay; 

Silences  are  filled  with  melody, 

Which  nature  turns  to  dulcet  symphony 

And  vibrates  secrets  that  compel 

A  recognition  of  the  rune; 


16 


Under  the  woven  spell 

My  ears  discern  the  tune. 

Even  the  nighthawk's  blatant  call 

Blends  wierdly,  whimsey  notes  that  fall 

With  whirr  of  swooping  wings — 

And  out  of  discord  brings 

A  lasting  harmony. 

Delphineum's  cerulean  blue 

Is  changing  to  a  softer  hue, 

For,  while  I  gaze, 

The  blossom  tints  revoke — 

They  seem  to  turn  to  smoke, 

And  mingle  with  the  haze 

To  offer  Nature-incense  once  anew. 

The  dusk  now  deeper,  still  descends 

And  lends 

Mysterious  subtilties  to  fill  the  soul, 

And  take  its  toll 

Of  quickened  adoration ! 

Lost  in  contemplation 

Of  the  tenuous  film  of  night, 

Things  tangible  are  taking  flight, 

And  one  by  one  the  stars  and  moon  progress 

To  lean  their  pure  white  loveliness 

Upon  my  dazzled  sight, — 

To  draw  me  high  and  higher 


17 


Into  their  realm  of  silver  fire. 
The  earth  recedes, 
And  fleeting  vision  leads 
To  new-born  inner  light. 

God !    God  is  the  vital  heart ! 

But  I,  too,  am  a  part. 

1  feel  a  pounding  flood 

Of  passion  sweeping  through  my  blood 

To  tell  the  marvel  of  it  all — 

To  speak — but  I  am  dumb! 

Thrilled  by  the  highest  call 

Of  Heaven's  resounding  roll, 

Unquestioning,  I  come 

And  answer,  soul  to  soul. 


18 


FROST-FOLIAGE 

The  colors  in  the  autumn  seem 

To  flare  and  fill  my  mind 
With  all  the  riot  of  a  dream, — 

With  conflict  intertwined. 

Emotions  leap  to  answer  flame 

In  passion  unforetold, 
Which  turn  the  rue  and  trifling  blame 

To  leaf  forgotten  mold. 

A  mass  of  yellow,  wild  delight, 

Is  spread  before  my  eyes 
Like  tawny  lions  when  in  might 

Their  latent  powers  arise. 

Here  is  the  woodbine's  brilliant  flood 

Of  crimson  strewn  around 
As  though,  in  wantoness,  heart's  blood 

Were  poured  upon  the  ground. 

And  there  pure  white  anemones 
Nod  blithe  and  winsome  faces, 

Creating  art  by  which  one  sees 
Youthful,  appealing  graces. 


19 


Beside  them  flaunts  vermillion  red 

Blaze-flaming  with  desire : — 
Not  caring  what  is  known  or  spread, 

It  builds  a  funeral  pyre. 

The  tinge  of  quiet  purple  leaf 

Shames  mad  and  garish  sights, 
And  paints  great  pictures,  clear  though  brief. 

Which  wisdom's  lore  unites. 

But  gold,  gold  shines  above  the  rest, 

Reflecting  pass-ing  schemes : 
The  dying  autumn  day  is  dressed 

In  living,  golden  dreams. 

And  all  this  brilliant,  dull,  embossed, 

Sad-sombre,  glorious  whole, 
Is  like  our  lives : — a  touch  of  frost 

And  gold  lights  up  the  soul ! 


20 


SAILING 

A  fleet  of  sailboats,  we — 
Blown,  chartless,  over  life's  rough  sea; 

And  each  must  sail  alone — 
Adventure  on  from  zone  to  zone 
Sails  trimmed  or  free. 

The  sea  is  bright  or  gray; 
It  may  be  calm ;  it  may  be  gay 

With  gold  on  every  wave: 
But  there  are  storms  and  night  to  brave 
That  seek  their  prey! 

A  deadly  calm  is  worst ! 
One  is  not  always  haply  versed 

In  saving  energy 
Against  the  fell  monotony 
That  sleeps,  accursed. 

When  we  are  tossed  by  waves 
The  tossing  is  the  part  that  saves ; 

We  take  the  spray  arace, 
Bow-forward,  fully  in  the  face, 

Tho  Neptune  raves. 

, 

21 


But  if  the  winds  are  strong 
Unseemly  hurtling  us  along, 

A  battle  is  the  thing — 
The  note  of  courage  spiriting 
Our  chanty  song. 

When  tempest,  though  we  flee, 
Shall  hurl  us  shoreward  ruthlessly, 

Eternity  looms  bright 
To  guide  us  with  its  harbor  light 
Safe  home  from  sea! 


22 


CHEER 

Upon  this  dismal,  murky  day, 
I  heard  the  note  of  a  chickadee 

Blithely  sound  this  roundelay — 

"The  sun  is  shining  for  me — me — me!' 

And  as  I  caught  the  cheering  sound, 
My  heart  rose  over  the  chilling  mist 

To  match  the  high  light  it  had  found. 
The  sun  is  shining;  I,  too,  insist! 


23 


CONTENT 

Contentment  rarely  comes  without  the  pang 

Of  birth  to  life : 
The  wisdom  of  experience  must  hang 

On  calm  and  strife. 

Stern  pain  as  well  as  cherished  pleasure's  glow 

Is  Heaven  sent, — 
For  Joy  and  Grief  must  join  to  make  us  know 

Their  child,  Content. 


24 


RETROVERSION 

The  ocean  beats  in  thunderous  waves 

Upon  the  s'hore, 
And  so  my  heart,  tumultuous,  beats, 

As  at  your  door. 

The  surf-wave,  spent,  recedes  along 

The  beach-wide  shelf, 
And  I,  too,  baffled,  shrink  away 

Within  myself ! 


25 


WILD-WIND 

Wild-wind,  inhuman  and  unkind! 
It  writhes  and  moans,  is  never  still 
And  with  a  gust,  in  wrath  designed, 
Attempts,  mob-like,  to  have  its  will. 

Roaring,  swirling  in  reckless  might, 
It  flings  defiance  to  mankind; 
It  makes  me  long  to  turn  in  flight,— 
This  unrelenting  blasting  wind. 

Untamed,  aggressive,  fierce  and  coarse, 

It  rudely  hisses  in  my  ears; 

It  bends  my  faith  with  brutal  force 

And  breaks  its  strength  against  my  fears. 

I  brave  the  wild  tempestuous  storm, 
But  find  my  courage  torn  to  bits; 
I  fight  the  unrestrained  vague  form, 
Yet  will  not  coward-like  cry  quits. 

Why  such  remorseless  ways,  O  wind ! 
Is  it  the  world's  returned  unrest, 
Which  forces  calm  to  seethe  and  find 
Such  brutal  strength,  such  wanton  zest? 


26 


Or  does  the  surging,  restless  wind 

War  with  the  "still  small  voice"  and  prove 

The  apotheosis  of  the  mind — 

The  Godlike  strength  of  truth  and  love? 

Though  sufferings  and  storms  infuse 
Their  searching  questions  into  me, 
Though  fearful  winds  I  would  not  choose, 
They  help — not  harm — humanity. 

Oh  life,  so  tossed  and  tempest-blind, 
So  at  the  mercy  of  storm's  dole, 
Your  lessons  come  and  thus  I  find 
A  raging  gale  may  'brace  the  soul. 


27 


WHITHER? 

Whither  away 

Fleet  bird,  so  gay? 

You  flit  across  the  evening  sky — 

Where  and  why? 

Soft  wind  that  blows, 

You  come,  who  knows 

Whence!    And  what  message  do  you  send 

To  earth's  far  end? 

Why  are  you  here, 

0  night  moth  near — 

Are  you  a  spirit  born  anew  ? 

1  wonder  who! 

Oh,  evening  star 

You  circle  far! 

And  like  my  soul — beyond  the  hither 

I  question — Whither? 


28 


IMPEDIMENTS 

Our  yielding  lives  drift  hampered 
By  trivial  things  that  we  must  do ! 

God  at  our  feet — 

Yet  we  must  eat ! 
And  we  are,  oh,  so  pampered 
That  we  grow  hardened — I  and  you. 

Our  aims  are  vain  or  groundless 
For  we  are  held  by  things  we  see. 

Our  bodies — Oh 

Let  them  go ! 

Can  we  not  find  the  boundless, 
Since  now  it  is  eternity? 


29 


AGE-OLD  DOORWAYS 

From  out  of  Life's  wide  window, 

In  Age's  little  house, 
I  saw  a  pathway  winding 

To  a  tempting  gay  carouse. 

There  was  a  door  wide  open, 

To  prove  that  I  could  go ; 
But  when  I  turned  my  footsteps 

I  saw  dead  ashes  blow ! 

Alas,  that  open  doorway 
Bewildering  with  its  view ! 

To  feel  the  lure  beyond  it— 

And  not,  and  not  pass  through ! 

Yet  I  would  rather  see  it, 
And  yield  no  step  to  win, 

Than  never  know  the  brilliance 
From  a  shuttered  black  within. 


30 


THE  COMMON  QUEST 

I  hunted  for  my  Happiness — 

Hunted  untiring,  here  and  there! 

I  ran  along  far  roadways  where 

I  thought  I  saw  her  velvet  dress 

Or  caught  the  tinge  of  love  kissed  hair. 

I  searched  on  day's  high  mountain  plot, 
Through  dusky  star-lit  deep  of  night ; 
I  even  sought  where  fancy-flight 
Sees  phantom  threads  of  hope  tin-knot 
And  each  retreat  I  probed  outright. 

With  haste  I  took  life's  proffered  lure 
And  went  to  every  splendid  fete ; 
In  festal  garments,  far  and  late 
I  hunted,  hunted  to  secure 
The  gift  her  powers  irradiate. 

And  sometimes  when  I  turned  my  eyes 
I  seemed  to  see  her  raptured  face, 
And  other  times  in  passioned  place 
I  felt  with  clinging  swift  surprise 
Her  wonder  webs  of  filmy  lace. 

But  when  she  wore  her  finest  gown, 
The  gown  of  flowing  flaming  white 
Made  pure  with  iridescent  light, 


31 


She  fled  from  me,  o'er  heath  and  down 
And  left  me  craving  nearer  sight. 

At  last  with  baffled  hope  and  torn 
By  jagged  pain,  I  gave  the  cry — 
"Now  home,  the  search  to  crucify!" 
And  there  within  that  slighted  bourne 
My  highest  Happiness  stood  by. 


32 


DREAM-DAYS 

Some  days  we  see  beyond  the  reach  of  wind ! 
Tho  born  within  the  body's  prison  case, 
Or  wrapped  in  fogs  of  circumstance,  the  mind 
Can  rise  and,  winging,  soar  afar  in  space. 

Perchance  the  eyes  find  but  a  sorry  dream 
And,  like  the  swooping  nighthawk  after  food, 
The  spirits  sink,  then  catch  the  proffered  gleam 
Of  hope  and  rise  again  in  quest  of  good. 

Sometimes  the  days  are  happiest  when  so 
The  spirit-eyes  are  freed, — when  will-o'-the-wisp 
From  shadowed  space  upflares  and,  awed,  we 

know 
The  harmonies  that  phantom  tongues  can  lisp. 


SQUAW  WINTER 

When  I  looked  up,  the  other  day, 

I  saw  the  sky  all  darkly  gray, 
Except  what  seemed  to  be  a  stage. 

What  could  its  brilliant  light  presage? 
I  questioned  what  it  was  about, 

But  answers,  each,  were  put  to  rout, 
Until  the  secret's  edge  was  limned, 

Precisely  as  the  light  was  dimmed ! 

Then  suddenly  I  saw,  as  flirts, 

A  million  billowy  ballet  skirts ; — 
Tier  on  tier,  tiptoe,  hand  in  hand, 

Swayed,  twisted,  turned  a  cloudlet  band. 
The  prima  donna  led  the  rest, 

Most  daintily  with  swansdown  dressed, 
And  then  the  others  scudded  out 

Trained  ready  for  the  dance,  no  doubt. 

With  that  the  grayish  curtain  fell. 
And  in  the  air,  from  hill  to  dell, 

Some  fluffy  flakes  were  shaken  down, 
From  each  soft  white  and  cloudy  gown. 

At  last  the  secret,  then,  was  out- 
First  snow  was  scattered  all  about ! 

It  was  Squaw  Winter's  pretty  play, 
Preceding  Indian  Summer's  day. 


34 


MY  NAMESAKE 

Dear  little  girl,  with  the  bronzy  curl, 

I  am  thinking  of  you,  to-day — 
Your  eyes  nut-brown  and  the  fluttering  down 

Of  your  soft  and  tender  way. 

You  darling  thing,  I  long  to  sing, 

Because  you  are  blithe  and  gay, 
And  you — so  sweet,  with  tripping  feet, 

Can  lead  my  world  this  day. 

I  feel  you  hear  and  enfold  you,  dear, 

In  my  longing,  wistful  arms. 
And  when  you  come  so  frolicsome, 

You  vanquish  life's  alarms. 

You  own  my  heart — not  just  a  part, 

And  you  love  me,  I  know. 
To  me  there's  bliss  in  your  sweet  kiss 

That  makes  mv  heart's  blood  flow. 


35 


"BUNNY  BOY" 

Dear  tiny  boy  with  eyes  of  blue 

And  mischievous,  alluring  smile, 
I  long  to  watch  you  each  day  through 
To  see  the  winsome  things  you  do, 

And  let  your  artful  ways  beguile. 

I  love  your  darling  little  self; 

Your  constant  pitter-pat  of  feet 
As  you  pursue  your  chosen  pelf : 
You  know  your  power,  you  roguish  elf, 

With  glances  charmingly  discreet ! 

Your  chatter  has  the  dearest  sound ; 

To  be  grown  up  you  bravely  try. 
You're  such  a  treasure,  I  have  found 
That  no  one  counts  with  you  around, 

And  cares  develop  wings  and  fly. 

Although  big  brothers  in  their  play 

Give  thumps  and  bumps,  you  shed  few  tears ; 
And  when  you  blink  the  signs  away, 
A  hint  of  manhood  you  betray, 

Though  less  than  two,  your  earth-lived  years. 

You  seem  to  know  so  many  things, 

I  think  when  you  were  earthward  bound. 


36 


Through  cloud  space  where  the  sky-lark  sings, 
The  Wisdom  Angel  with  his  wings 

Touched  you  and  made  your  thought  profound. 

I've  loved  you  since  you  were  brand  new, 

And  when  I  have  a  baby  boy — 
(My  dream  eyes  can  possess  one,  too!) 
I'll  have  him  fashioned  just  like  you ; 

Your  phantom  self  of  bounding  joy. 


37 


MYSELF  AWAY 

Whene'er  I  say — "I'm  not  myself  to-day," 

I  wonder  what  I  mean. 
Does  some  bad  fay  come  stealing  me  away 

And  keep  itself  unseen? 

I  feel  'tis  right  that  this  uncanny  sprite, 
Which  makes  my  soul  depressed, 

Should  not  incite  within  my  true  self  flight 
To  cowardly  unrest. 

So  I  shall  say  that  I  am  "out"  to-day 

When  not  what  I  should  be; 
I  hate  delay,  yet  surely  'tis  fair  play 

If  not  myself,  you  see. 

But  why  permit  that  creature  to  outwit 

Or  take  my  form  and  face? 
I'll  make  it  quit!    I  will  not  have  an  "it" — 

A  usurper  in  my  place ! 


38 


FOR  AN  INVALID 

Oh  I  am  thankful  for  a  room 

With  cozy  fluffy  bed, 
Where  I  can  pause  awhile  and  rest 

My  burdened  pain-bent  head. 

Tho  pains  may  come  and  joys  may  flee, 

Yet  I  can  always  find 
This  restful  little  comfort  nook 

Where  I  can  tuck  my  mind. 

The  blessings  of  the  world  are  big 
Tho  small  they  often  seem ; 

And  he  is  blessed  who  has  a  bed 
Where  he  may  sleep  and  dream. 

And  so  again  I  give  heart  thanks 
For  common  boons  of  man, 

Tho  idly  I  must  watch  poor  Life 
Drag  Pain's  dull  caravan ! 


39 


RESTRAINT 

I  long  to  roam  the  wide  earth  unrestrained, 
To  see  my  yearning  wishes  all  attained, 
To  wander  through  the  shady  forest  glen, 
And  feel  the  freedom  of  the  world  again, — 

But  I  can  knit ! 

Long  row  on  row,  to  lull  the  wants  of  me 
And  weave  the  liberty  of  life.    I'm  free — 

For  I  can  knit ! 

I  long  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  the  earth, 
Of  men,  of  countries  and  of  every  worth. 
I  cannot  loiter  where  the  great  and  wise 
Drop  words  of  wonder  and  philosophize, — 

But  I  can  read! 

Books  are  the  panacea  for  dull  days, 
Transforming  monotones  to  hymns  of  praise, 

For  I  can  read ! 

I  long  to  see  a  wide  expanse  of  sky 
With  fairy  clouds,  sun-burnished,  floating  by; 
I  long  to  climb  and  scale  the  dizzy  height 
To  feel  the  wafted  measure  of  their  might, — 

But  I  can  dream! 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  all  the  sky  possess, 
I  lose  the  dross  of  mundane  ugliness, 

For  I  can  dream! 


40 


I  Jong  to  carry  joy  among  mankind, 
And,  finding  some  one  sorrowful  of  mind, 
To  give  to  him  a  comforting  caress, 
To  place  new  hopes  where  battered  hopes  dis 
tress, 

But  I  can  love! 

I'll  send  the  waves  of  thought  with  vital  verve 
To  stir  the  veil  which  hides  the  soul.    I  serve, 

For  I  can  love! 


41 


IRON  CROSSES 

Great  courage  and  surpassing  bravery, 

*In  this  world's  battle,  win  the  service  cross 
And  praise  of  men.    But  oh,  what  pangs  there  be 
For  those  who  live  to  bear  the  cruel  loss ! 

The  conflicts  waged  within  us  are  so  great 
We  wonder  why  we  care  to  fight  at  all. 

Sometimes  the  clinging  burdens  dominate, 
Benumb  us,  till  we  care  not  what  befall. 

What  honor,  glory,  come  through  discipline 
To  waiting  ones?    They,  battling  in  the  soul 

Are  reaping  hidden  gain  and  strive  to  win — 
Ah,  through  hard  iron  crosses — to  the  goal! 


42 


"ORA  PRO  NOBIS" 

So  vague  is  time !    For  what  do  we  await  ? 
The  hours,  the  days,  the  months,  the  weary  years 
Drag   by,   their   nets    o'erbrimming   with   life's 

fears. 

How  full  is  earth  of  hopeless  souls  whom  fate 
Has  flung  into  the  maelstrom  whirl  of  hate, 
Of  blighting  change,  of  turbid  war  which  leers 
Into  our  faces  with  its  horrid  jeers! 
Oh,  pray  for  us,  that  time  may  extricate. 

We  pine  for  vain  delights  that  swiftly  flee, — 
For  fame,  success  or  evanescent  might. 
Why  choose  such  earthly  fleeting  majesty? 
Time  laughs,  and  takes  it  from  us  in  a  night! 
We  wait  but  for  time's  deep  and  moulding  line 
To  mark  our  souls  with  an  eternal  sign. 


43 


IN  THE  BREAKERS 

Great  billows  of  despair 

Have  broken  over  me. 
I  have  been  tossed  in  air 

And  flung  down  by  this  sea. 

The  deeps  of  sordid  strife 
Have  crushed  and  left  a  scar : 

The  undertow  of  Hfe 

Has  torn  me,  drawn  me  far. 

Deep  down  I  was  submerged, — 
Ay,  smothered  in  the  swirl 

When  the  waves  fumed  and  surged 
In  the  mad  sweeping  whirl. 

Alone,  alone  I  found 
Not  one  to  see  my  need. 

Helpless,  I  almost  drowned 
For  just  some  one  to  heed. 

Oh,  marvelous  life-line 

Flung  out  to  rescue  me ! 
It  was  some  power  divine — 

Saving  from  life's  dark  sea ! 


44 


A1IND  UNREST 

Chaos !     Enigmatic,  falling, 
Ever  sinking  in  a  hopeless  plight. 
Useless  probe  and  futile  calling; 
Empty  answer — bafflement  and  night ! 

Soul  of  mine,  why  wonder,  wonder — 
When  you  cannot,  must  not  know  the  whole? 
Chaos  shall  be  rent  asunder 
When  the  heavens  spread  their  flashing  scroll. 


45 


INTERVALS 

The  long  dark  intervals  that  teem 
Between  the  times  worth  while 

Are  intricate  and  vague,  and  seem 

Devoid  of  any  helpful  gleam 
We  crave  to  mark  life's  dial. 

But  fleeting  moments  most  divine, 

Which  no  one  can  prolong, 
Disclose  the  brilliance  of  soul-shine — 
Reveal  the  heights  of  God's  design, 

And  fill  the  heart  with  song. 

The  dreary  interval  outvies 

The  frowning  intervales 
Deep  hidden  where  the  mountains  rise 
To  overshadow  that  which  lies 

Within  the  humble  swales. 

We  cannot  scale  the  utmost  height 

Nor  dwell  in  thought  sublime, 
But  life  holds  balances,  and  light 
Can  touch  our  spiritual  sight 
To  beautify  all  time. 


EASTER  IN  A  HOSPITAL 

Lo,  Easter!  Early  morning  darkness  clings 

And  slowly  lifts  the  heavy  pall  of  dread 

To  lessen,  gently,  weary  sufferings ; 

The  long  night  filled  with  pain,  with  torture  fed, 

At  last  is  nearly  gone ;  another  day 

Is  creeping  through  the  open  window  sash 

To  bring  reviving  courage  with  its  breath, 

For  this  is  Easter  on  its  way! 
And  Easter  morn  forgets  the  cruel  lash, 
And  Easter  hastens  healing  out  of  death. 

The  day  assumes  a  mildly  stirring  tone 
Contrasting  with  the  stifling  ethered  air 
Which  penetrates  and  brings  a  muffled  moan. 
Far  distant  sounds  of  deep  toned  bells  declare 
A  pleasing  message  so  serenely  clear 
That,  tho  a  frighttened  child  in  anguish  screams, 
The  dreaded  shadows  pass  and  radiance  shines ! 

For  Easter  has  an  atmosphere 
That,  aching  heart  and  injury,  redeems, 
That,  hope  and  joy  and  reverence,  combines. 

The  hesitating  step,  the  breath  of  flowers 
Proclaim  a  visitor  to  some  closed  door 
Where  silences  are  ominous  of  hours 
Beating  their  poignant  sword-thrusts  to  the  core. 
Through  tranquil  stillness,  sudden  clink  of  dish 
47 


Is  borne,  an  anxious  whispered  call  and  then, 
Although  it  is  the  Resurrection  Day, 

A  nurse's  rapid  rustling  swish 
Is  heard  adown  the  hall  and  back  again, 
Mayhap  to  ease  a  soul  on  death's  lone  way. 

Supreme  and  holy  Resurrection  Day! 

The  day  victorious  Christ  fresh  comfort  brings, 

With  conquering  relief  for  pain-torn  clay, 

And  thought  that  lifts  one  up  to  highest  things. 

To-day  I  see  the  Lord ;  the  world  is  fair 

And  I  can  never  cease  through  Easter  Day 

To  glorify  this  new  Epiphany. 

God's  manifested  love  to  wear. 
The  past  sad  crown  of  thorns  is  put  away — 
1  live  again  through  living  Calvary ! 


Spirit  of  Easter!     Hallowed  chimes  that  fall 
With  silver-ringing  cadence  on  the  air ! 
Past  Golgotha's  dark  cross  and  bitter  gall. 
They  waft  their  sacred  praises  on,  where'er 
An  awe-filled  heart  is  kneeling  low  to  pray 
And  chant  the  antiphon.    The  skies  relume 
Christ  love,  and  heaven's  advent  lingereth. 

For  this  is  happy  Easter  Day ! 
And  Easter  joy  leaves  grieving  in  the  tomb 
And  Easter  giveth  life  in  place  of  death. 


48 


ALONG  THE  WAY 

Along  the  way  we  find  the  rock  strewn  path, 

The  hard  ascent,  the  steep  declivity; 

But  God,  above  the  wounding  roadway,  hath 

Bestowed  the  tinted  clouds,  the  sun-kissed  leaves, 

The  strong  uplifting  spell  which  pure  air  weaves, 

And  richest  treasure  given  for  us  to  see — 

So,  I  forget  distresses  which  abound 

To  look  and  find  God's  blessings  all  around. 


49 


CHILD-FAITH 

Oh,  close  and  confident  I  lie 

Against  God's  heart,  upon  the  grass, 

And  look  up  in  his  face — the  sky 

And  try  to  know  his  thoughts  that  pass. 

But  though  I  cannot  fathom  far, 
I  know  he  holds  me  all  the  while; 

And  when  he  signals  with  a  star, 
I  see  his  love, — a  twinkling  smile! 


50 


VOICES 

Voices  come  calling  across  the  plain; 
Voice  of  the  wind  and  voice  of  the  rain, 
Eagerly  calling  to  children  of  men — 
"Come,  rise  above  the  nothings  of  earth, 
Search  out  the  marvels  of  highest  worth 
That  cannot  be  told  by  tongue  or  pen." 

Voices  come  whispering  over  the  leas; 
Voices  of  grasses,  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
Gently  intone  as  they  sway  to  and  fro — 
"Leave  all  the  vanishing  forces  awhile, 
Let  spirit  ascend  from  earth,  mile  on  mile, 
And  seek  for  the  things  that  we  do  not  know." 

A  voice  from  the  forest  vibrates  afar; 
The  voice  from  the  cloud  that  sings  to  a  star 
Carries  us  upward,  higher  than  thought, 
Loosens  the  chains  of  cause  and  effect, 
While  will-power,  faith  and  judgment  elect 
To  overleap  wisdom  that  earth  has  bought. 

Voices  pursue  us — are  they  in  vain? 
Songs  of  the  veery,  the  lark's  refrain 
Tenderly  thrill  us,  and  we,  too,  soar, — 
For  something  lifts  when  the  lark-note  rings 
To  something  beyong  the  outside  of  things 
And  God  in  His  home  seems  just  next  door. 
51 


DOUBT 

The  shadow  signs  of  doubt  that  dare 
To  trace  themselves  around  my  heart, 

Stand  out  a  twisted  mesh  of  care, 

Like  barren  stems,  which  have  the  art 

To  emphasize  their  heavy  lines. 

In  contrast  to  the  wall,  such  vines 
Look  strong  as  ropes, 

And  on  it.  clinging,  each  dark  stem  entwines. 

Black  coils  exaggerate  their  girth : 

They  mar  with  many  a  grievous  mark 

When  winter  rigors  cause  a  dearth 
Of  fruitful  life  and  leave  them  stark. 

But  all  the  wealth  that  waits  so  well 

On  spring's  leaf-elves  with  later  swell 
To  guard  new  hopes 

And  screen  the  doubt  beneath  their  sylvan  spell ! 


52 


COME  WITH  ME 

Oh  come  with  me,  dear  weeping  heart, 

And  we  will  go  away ; 
For  I  am  tired  of  pains  that  dart 
And  you  are  saddened  from  the  smart 

Of  things  that  hurt  to-day. 

Together  we  will  share  a  dream 

Of  triumph,  you  and  I, 
Because  within  us  things  that  seem 
Composed  of  grief — and  nerves  that  scream- 
Are  earnestly  cast  by! 

Companions,  up  and  up,  we  go, — 

My  weary  heart  and  yours; 
For  cloud-top-high  are  dreams  aglow, 
And  we  shall  catch  the  overflow 

Through  sunny  apertures. 

Yes,  come  with  me,  dear  lonely  one, 

For  we  are  kin,  I  know; 
And  hand  in  hand  we  shall  outrun 
The  dolors  that  our  hearts  would  shun ! 

Oh  come  with  me  and  go! 


53 


A  BORROWED  BOOK 

Some   one  has   caught   a   glimpse   of    stagnant 

hours, 

Has  seen  the  tiresome  tinge  of  Day-by-Day, 
Has  felt  that  long  Monotony  lacks  flowers 
And  needs  a  sprite  to  spirit  Time  away. 

And  so  my  friend  has  gathered  a  bouquet 
Of  treasured  words  that  in  her  garden  grew, 
And  lent  to  me  a  poet's  brilliant  spray 
Of  time-diverting  verses,  fresh  as  dew. 

The  sunshine  of  my  friend  I  borrow,  too, 
And  shadows  are  dispelled,  the  hours  beguiled; 
The  weariness  is  gone,  the  light  is  new ; 
With  friendly  Time  I  now  am  reconciled! 


54 


A  KING'S  GARDEN 

A  formal  garden  is  a  fair  plaisance, 
Yet  cold  and  stately  in  its  way,  and  so 
To  me  it  is  an  artificial  show — 

The  ostentation  of  the  renaissance. 

The  endless  view  of  straight,  precise,  tall  trees 
Which  border  on  the  sweeping  esplanade, 
Is  like  stiff  lines  of  soldiers  on  parade 

Saluting  pompous  power  with  each  breeze. 

The  sculptured  fountain,  spurting  all  the  time 
And  gulping  back,  insatiable  with  greed, 
Wastes  sparkling  water,  feeding  but  the  weed 

That  thrives  down  underneath  amidst  the  slime. 

Patrician  poplars,  slim  and  graceful,  sway 
In  surface  pride,  like  social  parasites, 
With  shallow  roots — absorbing  topmost  lights 

And  reaching  far  and  near  for  all  they  may. 

The  gay  parterres  enravish  wondrously, 
And  revel  in  symmetrical,  bright  bloom, 
But  all  the  ornament  is  nature's  doom 

With  its  repelling  regularity. 

The  winding  walks  and  tall  dividing  hedge — 
The  nooks  clandestine  that  fond  youth  invites, 
55 


Seem  like  a  stage  all  set  for  love's  delights 
And  force  the  senses  with  a  hateful  wedge. 

Nobility  is  gone!    There  is  a  dearth 

Of  charming  inconsistency's  wild  sway: 
Such  gardens  garnish  Nature  for  display, 

And  lack  the  ancient  dignity  of  earth! 


56 


MY  NEIGHBOR'S  GARDEN 

My  next  neighbor's  garden  is  laid  in  a  square 
Of  bright  quilted  patchwork,  with  pattern-form 

there 

As  gay  as  the  ones  that  my  grandmother  made 
When    patterns    were    borrowed    in    friendliest 

trade. 

The  colors,  design  and  the  flowers  fuse  glints 
To  come  back  as  one,  one  that  suddenly  prints 
A  unified  picture  of  old-fashioned  ways — 
The  stately,  the  slow,  the  colonial  days. 

My  neighbor's  near  garden,  so  lovely  a  square, 
Can  turn  every  eye  from  delights  otherwhere 
To  trace,  around  corners,  down  parallel  lines, 
The  form  that  some  fanciful  title  defines — 
For  like  the  quaint  calico  patchwork  of  old 
The  pattern's  arrangement  is  made  to  unfold 
With  paths  all  about  and  with  strips  in  between 
Embroidered  in  stitches  of  mossy  deep  green. 

This  heart  warming  garden  that  lies  just  next 

door 

Is  modeled  to  capture  the  fancy  still  more 
Restudying  pictures  of  petal  and  pose 
That  make  up  the  pieces.  The  Larkspurs  in  rows 
Are  telling  the  praises  of  Fox-glove's  new  bonnet 
Where    bees    are    low    droning    a    honey-sweet 

sonnet : 

•    57 


The  hickory  bench  on  a  small  patch  of  grass 
Is  so  luring  a  place  that  no  lover  could  pass, 
And  figures  and  flowers  of  olden  day  hue 
Are  keyed  to  the  tone  of  the  Heavenly-Blue; 
While  right  in  the  center  of  this  brilliant  block 
Is  skillfully  set  an  old  sundial -clock 
Surrounded   with   roses — some  pink   and   some 

yellow — 
All  pointing  or  nodding  to  far  North-Star  fellow. 

A  charming  wee  entrance  to  this  dear  retreat 
Is  through  a  square-latticed  and  white  garden 

seat 

Where  under  its  archway  one's  fancy  may  see 
The  picture  of  jubilant  butterfly  glee, 
Or  humming-birds  hover  to  dip  in  and  sup 
The  sugar  from  deep  in  each  flower  made  cup : 
Far  borders  are  skirted  with  delivate  Phlox 
And  bowing,  demurely-serene  Hollyhocks. 

Ah  me,  this  quaint  garden  is  truly  the  place 
To  feel  something  haunting  averting  my  face 
To  long  ago  times  when  sweet  modest  ways 
And  making  of  patchwork  fulfilled  olden  days. 

Each  month  the  fair  pattern  remains  quite  the 

same 
With  different  blocks  in  the  rose-garland  frame; 


58 


And  different  bevys  of  blossoming  faces 
Re-picture  my  mind  with  the  stateliest  graces — 
These  flowered  designs  which  constrain  me  to 

harbor 
Odd  whimseys  of  old  as  I  walk  in  my  arbor ! 

What   wonder   that,   near  this   enchanting  gay 

square, 
I  love  to  go  looking  and  lingering  there  1 


59 


MY  GARDEN  IS  MY  THEATRE 

A  garden  theatre  I  own 

And  when  I  long  to  see  a  play 

I  watch  its  pageant, — in  a  way 
True  acts  are  shown. 

The  scenery  is  always  set: 

The  summer-house,  the  trellised  arch, 
The  deep  green  shrubs  and  feather-larch 

Dew  sparkling  wet. 

The  rustic  bench  is  waiting  there 
Beneath  the  tree  and  just  beyond, 

The  dial  darkened  signs  respond 
To  sunshine  fair. 

The  sky  for  background  gives  a  glow 
No  human  artist-brush  could  sketch 

With  clouds  all  silver-tipped  to  etch 
The  depth  below. 

And  actors  come  and  go  for  me : 
They  are  the  birds,  the  butterflies, 

The  fairies'  wings, — if  you  are  wise 
You,  too,  can  see. 

The  blossoms  nod  and  turn  their  heads 
At  bumble-bee's  insistent  kiss, 
60 


As — rumbling,  hungering,  loving — this 
Is  how  he  weds. 

The  orchestra  is  perfect  here: 
It  pipes  and  plays  in  lofty  trees, 

And  every  note  is  one  to  please, 
So  true,  so  clear. 

It  even  trills  such  thrilling  lays, 

That  satyrs  come,  and  nymphs  and  fauns, 
To  dance  and  prance  across  the  lawns 

In  mist  arrays. 

It  is  a  play  of  sweet  repose ; 

No  sordid  problems  to  be  solved, 
No  hate  or  tragedy  involved, 

Or  lover  woes. 

The  robins  know  I  love  their  song; 

They  flit  and  turn  before  'they  soar, 
And  even  answer  my  encore 

In  cadence  long. 

Then  brown  leaves  flutter,  one  by  one, 
To  tell  me  that  this  nature  play, 

Which  I  have  watched,  day  after  day, 
Is  almost  done. 


61 


And  when  night's  dusky  curtain  drops 
I  feel  at  rest — not  worn  with  strain 

Attempting,  foolishly,  to  gain 
Life's  trumpery  sops. 


MAY-TIME 

May-time!     Oh,  this  hour  just  breathe 
The  matchless  fragrance  of  the  air, 

Wind-wafted  here  and  everywhere 
And  let  its  incense  round  you  wreathe! 

The  sky  is  an  enameled  sphere 
Revealing  luminous  bright  tones 

That  shine  upon  the  day;  its  zones 
Of  gloom  dispelled  by  sunshine  clear. 

The  tender  opening  leaf  of  green 
Enchants  us  with  elusive  might: 

It  has  unfolded  over  night 
With  vital  promises  unseen. 

Behold  the  brilliant  pageant — bud 

And  blossom  waving  toward  the  green 

Banners  of  silk  in  royal  sheen — 
For  so  come  joys  of  May  aflood! 

The  hyacinths  and  daffodils 

Proclaim  with  pride — the  spirit  hears, 
Inaudible  to  other  ears — 

That  Spring  is  walking  on  the  hills. 

The  birds  have  come  to  herald,  too, 
Her  presence  in  the  homestead  plot: 
63 


Look !     Hear  the  joyou:,  polyglot 

From  flashing  red  and  gold  and  blue! 

Dull  spirits  feel  themselves  transform 

To  ecstacy,  like  this  brave  choir, 
Which  warbles  with  enraptured  fire 

And  sways  fruit-petals  into  storm. 

Horsechestnut  trees  along  the  street 

Have  decked  themselves  with  waxen  blooms, 

Which  gleam  like  candle  lights  in  rooms 
Before  their  wax  is  burned  complete. 

You  never,  never  could  express 
The  rapture,  the  enthralling  power 

Which  comes  to  you  in  such  an  hour. 
And  buoys  you  up  for  life's  duress. 

It  must  have  been  sometime  in  May 

That  God  looked  on  his  work  on  earth, 

And  found  it  good !     And  now  rebirth 
Is  also  thrilling  us,  to-day! 


64 


AN  INTERLUDE 

Musicians  sometimes  change 

A  deep  refrain 

And  turn  the  melody  to  strange 

Sweet  haunting  notes  that  wake  to  life 

And  in  our  hearts  remain. 

So,  in  the  harmony 

Of  life's  delight 

Strange  moments  leap  to  memory 

And,  touching  deeper  chords  of  life. 

Link  strains  of  subtle  might. 

Thus  it  was  today 

As  forth  I  rode, 

Contentedly,  my  role  to  play 

And  feel  the  throbbing  pulse  of  life 

Which,  ghostly,  by  me  strode. 

Then  suddenly,  you  passed 
And  looked  at  me — 
And  held  my  spirit  fast! 
Unlike  a  stranger's  countenance 
Which  turns  with  casual  glance 
To  look,  and  does  not  see, 
Your  soul  met  mine — 
And,  for  a  moment,  wine 
Coursed  through  my  veins 
Like  rain  in  hurricanes. 
65 


Swayed  by  a  master  sign 

The  major  purpose  to  refine 

The  music  changed,  and  melody 

I  heard,  in  weird  and  minor  key. 

I  felt  a  thrill  of  spirited  surprise 

And  turned  to  question  your  insistent  eyes. 

What  did  you  see — 

Why  did  you  look  at  me 

With  sphinx-like  scrutiny? 

Questions  echoed  through  the  whirr 
Of  traffic  as  we  passed. 
I  wondered  why  the  songs  that  were 
Should  change  so  unexpectedly 
To  let  another  make  for  me 
Odd  strains  which  held  me  fast 
With  instant  comraderie! 

It  was  a  bar  of  harmony 
In  concord  with  the  world. 
Driving  on,  impelling  me — 
The  wheels  of  life  were  whirled ! 


66 


THE  MESSENGER 

Oh  Bluebird,  winging  near  me, 

You  veer  away  and  then, 
Returning,  bear  a  message 

To  tell  again,  again ! 
Is  Eros  in  the  secret? 

Has  he  dispatched  you  here 
To  flash  your  feathers  gleaming  bright, 

And  pipe  your  song  of  cheer? 

You  deepen  heaven's  color 

Bird-sprite  of  Happiness : 
You  bring  unto  my  senses 
A  message  to  redress 
For  days  of  chilling  loneness, 

For  days  of  sable  hue, 
When  I  would  give  all  I  possess 

To  hear,  dear  heart,  from  you. 

How  strangely  I  am  trembling 

At  your  transporting  note, 
For  I  was  faint  with  longing 

To  hear  that  pulsing  throat ! 
The  reason  you  are  Happiness 

I  know !     Its  truth  I  prove. 
The  reason?    Well,  why  not  confess — 

You  sing  to  me  of  love. 


67 


SO  YOU  ARE  LIGHT  TO  ME 

The  herald  of  the  coming  day 

Is  rolling  back  the  night, 
And  beauty  of  the  dawning  gray 

Before  the  wealth  of  light 
Is  like  the  shadow-thoughts  that  stray 
To  greet  me  when  you  are  away. 

When  splendor  of  the  day  is  here 

And  empty  night  is  gone, 
The  gracious  radiance  and  cheer 

Are  love's  own  benison, — 
The  love  that  shines  when  you  are  near, 
A  sparkling  signal  to  endear. 

The  rays  that  evening  sunsets  fling 

Around  the  glowing  rose 
When  lingering  tender  kisses  cling 

The  flower  heart  to  disclose, 
Are  like  you,  too,  the  love  you  bring 
With  day's  repeated  offering. 

And  does  the  morning  light  unroll 

The  miracle  of  day? 
And  does  the  daylight  still  control 

The  evening  softened  ray? 
So  you,  my  love,  can  make  the  whole 
Of  light  for  me — day's  living  soul. 
68 


"WILL-O'-THE  WISP" 

Alas,  my  fond  desire  is  "Will-'-o-the-Wisp" ! 

He  holds  me  charmed  with  glimmer  clear  and 

crisp, 
Yet  teases  me  with  his  elusive  wile, 

Which  frees  me,  only  backward  to  beguile. 

A  phantom  "Will-o'-the-Wisp"  is  my  desire! 

I  reach  for  its  reflected  light,  but  higher, 
Now  here,  now  there,  it  dances  in  my  eyes, 

Dazzling  and  blinding — then  away  it  flies. 

Oh  deep  desire,  oh  haunting  "Will-o'-the-Wisp", 
With  those  sweet  hopes  and  longings  that  you 
lisp, 

Torment  me  not  with  your  evasive  spell, 
Release  me,  please,  till  I  charm  you  as  well ! 


69 


A  CAMP-FIRE  LONG  AGO 

A  certain  camp-fire  lives  and  burns 

In  a  corner  of  my  mind; 
Its  leaping  flame  remembering  turns 

Old  fuel's  heart  to  find. 

The  pine  logs  draw  a  shadow  straight 
With  the  silver  pointed  moon, 

And  dancing  wraiths  with  bows  ornate 
Are  humming  secret  rune. 

Wood  embers  dead  long  years  ago 

No  flames  can  vitalize; 
But  I  can  keep  my  fire  aglow 

By  the  light  within  your  eyes. 


70 


WAITING 

The  summer's  urgent  lurement,  gay, 
With  leaves  all  beckoning  in  gracious  play, 
Compels  me  to  the  joyance  of  each  day — 
But  you  are  far  away. 

Cicades  loudly  call  and  sing, 
The  flowers  shine,  the  birds  are  on  the  wing, 
And,  oh,  the  woodland  is  a  living  thing, 
But  you,  they  do  not  bring. 

The  water  gently  laves  the  dock 
Where  waiting  boats  beside  the  lake-shore  rock : 
I  hear  the  leader's  bell  among  the  flock, 
But  not  your  knock. 

Alas,  I  want  you  here  again ! 
The  road  you  chose  wound  over  hill  and  plain, 
And  where  you  went,  'tis  there  my  heart  has  lain. 
I  wait,  but  not  in  vain, 


71 


LOVE'S  REQUEST 

Tell  me  why  the  beauty  of  the  roses, 
Lovely  in  the  tender  night's  disguise, 

Never  in  the  starshine  quite  uncloses 

Secrets  that  my  heart  would  keenly  prize. 

Subtly  to  my  lips  I  feel  a  pleasure 
Wafted  like  the  sense  of  being  kissed : 

Roses'  hearts  and  yours  are  haunting  treasure — 
Both  seem  often  hidden  in  a  mist. 

Mist  of  evening  veil  and  velvet  petal, 
Sweetness  unresponsive  to  my  sight, 

Tell  me  why  the  rose  and  you  unsettle 
Calm  of  vision  clear  and  night's  delight? 

Speak  to  me  and  make  the  mist  uncover 
Heart  of  rose  and  heart  of  one  more  dear : 

Whisper  to  me  through  the  dusk,  my  lover, 
Speak  and  make  love's  meaning  wholly  clear! 


72 


LOVE'S  ANSWER 

You  cannot  tell  with  lips  my  heart's  requesting, 
You  may  not  even  softly  lift  your  voice, 

But  oh,  your  eyes  dear  love-looks  are  attesting, 
And  keeping  tryst  to  make  my  heart  rejoice. 

The  silence  of  your  soul  you  are  obeying, 
No  tender  thought  of  me  you  need  to  tell, 

For  oh,  my  lover,  your  deep  eyes  are  saying 
"I  love  you,  dear,  I  love  you,  love  you  well." 


•    73 


THE  ABSENT  ONE 

4 

All  day  my  thoughts  are  wandering  with  you. 
All  through  the  night  they  still  go  dreaming  on. 
Then  they,  content,  at  happy  rendezvous, 
Are  like  the  halcyon. 

You  are  the  clear  and  calm  life-buoyant  pool, 

And  yieldingly  I  sink  upon  your  breast : 

Thus  held,  my  thoughts  are  nestling,  warmly, 

cool, 
And  find  their  perfect  rest ! 


74 


YOUR  SHADOW 

From  you  no  gloomy  shadow  falls 
Within  my  room  when  you  are  here; 
But  warmest  golden  light  installs 
Itself — if  you  are  near. 

The  playful  shadow  only  comes 

When  you  are  gone,  with  wayward  knack; 

And  that  dull  silver-chill  benumbs 

The  light — till  you  come  back. 

Your  shadow  is  so  strange  a  thing; 
Detached  from  you  it  seems  to  grow. 
You  never  tiny  vestige  bring — 
Yet  leave  it  when  you  go ! 


75 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  FEAR 

Listen  to  the  music's  throb ! 

Strains  of  violin  that  sob 
Unresponding  to  the  magic  of  the  night: 

How  they  beat  a  hateful  wonder 

As  they  strike  my  joy  asunder — 
Unrelenting  tones  that,  passing,  leave  affright. 

I  was  thinking,  dear,  of  you, 

Passing  fondly  in  review 
Happy  hours  that  linger,  charming  with  delight, 

But  the  music's  sudden  robbing 

Of  the  quiet  with  its  sobbing 
Chilled  my  soul,  till  on  my  spirit  fell  a  blight! 

Oh,  the  horror  of  the  thought 

That  the  threnody  so  brought — 
Endless  moments  lacking  touch  of  you,  or  sight ! 

See  the  ghost  dance  in  derision 

As  it  makes  a  mental  vision 
And  intones  a  ghastly  measure,  dead  and  white ! 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

Sweet  are  the  gifts  of  the  garden,  my  lover; 

Garlands  of  perfume  my  senses  entwine, 
Blossoms  bend  low  and  their  petals  uncover 

Odors  more  potent  than  merit  of  mine. 

You  are  the  gift  of  love's  garden,  my  treasure; 

You  are  the  spirit  the  flowers  possess — 
Semblance  of  nature's  most  ravishing  measure, 

Blending  endearments  with  heaven's  caress. 

Sweet  as  the  garden's  own  fragrancy  clinging, 
Fair  as  the  beauty  the  tanglement  sheds, 

Dearer  by  far  is  the  love  you  are  bringing, 
Dearer  the  time  which  your  lingering  weds. 

You  are  the  heart  of  the  garden's  wild  rapture, 
You  are  the  magic  of  flowers  agleam, 

You  are  the  hope  that  my  soul  flies  to  capture — 
Garlanded  wonder  and  fancy  adream ! 


77 


REACTION 

The  beautiful  things  of  this  glorious  world 
Are  so  fathomless  in  their  delight, 

That  beauty  surpassing  the  vision,  has  hurled 
My  soul  into  blackness  of  night. 

The  marvelous  justice  and  wisdom  of  thought, 
That  is  sometimes  the  gift  of  a  man, 

Is  so  godlike  that  wonder  and  reverence  have 

wrought 
In  my  mind  a  far  place  hard  to  span. 

And  the  love  that  you  bear  me,  Oh  lover  of  mine, 

Is  so  high  and  so  holy  a  boon 
That  my  spirit  relaxes,  transition  benign 

Makes  my  heart  sink  in  death,  like  a  swoon. 


TO  A  BROOK 

All  verse  of  "babbling  brooks"  should  be  taboo! 

Forbidden  in  memorials  of  rhyme, — 

But  who  could  fail  to  sing  the  heart  of  you, 

O  mystic,  whispering  element  of  time? 

You  disregard  both  cycle  and  the  clime, 

Descendent  of  eternity's  first  rill ; 

You  live  and  flow  in  mimic  pantomime 

Of  motion  and  with  music's  charm  you  fill 

Your  upturned  shining  cup  of  mirrored  daffodil. 

Your  origin  you  chant  to  silver  grace 
Of  mountain  vales  where  transitory  things 
Like  dew  or  opalescent  cloud  first  trace 
Effect  unchangeable,  which  downward  flings 
Creation's  essence  with  a  rush  that  swings 
And  tumbles  by  the  flimsy  haunts  of  men. 
That    hurries    by    the    marsh    where    bog-moss 

clings, 

Before  you  find  the  shining  pool  and  then 
Attain  the  final  headlong  plunge  beyond  the  glen. 

You  bear  the  imprint  of  your  maker's  clear 
Design  in  your  ecstatic  ordered  flow. 
At  present  like  the  days  of  yester-year 
You  come  with  syllables  of  joy,  and  go 
Your  way  where  even  grievous  symbols  grow 
Against  malicious  rocks — the  rocks  that  dash 
79 


Hurt  tears  of  spray !     Here,  flecks  of  sunshine 

glow, 

There,  tiny  wisps  of  straw  can  cut  a  gash, 
And   shade  relieves  bewildering  dancing  lights 

that  plash. 

How  merrily  your  rippling  laughter  fills 
The  glade  and  makes  the  quiet  lowland  proud 
To  own  the  argent  flow  your  life  distills ! 
As  placid  intellects  look  on  a  crowd 
Of  children  clamoring  in  play  so  loud 
That  heart  is  freshened  and  receives  a  stir, 
So  earth  along  your  margin  is  endowed 
With  greater  beauty !     Oh  fleet  reveller, 
Laugh    on   in   gurgling   rapture-joys,   our   mes 
senger  ! 

The  age-old  minstrel  wind  pipes  on  and  on 
And  improvises  tender  melody 
That  swells  and  flows  in  perfect  unison 
With  flower  bells  and  joins  the  harmony 
Of  tinkling  liquid. — making  jubilee, 
So  crystal  clear,  so  full  of  music's  might. 
That  precious  loveliness  can  keep  the  key 
Till  each  new  morn  recalls  the  face  of  light 
A'lxwe  the  clinging  velvet  cloak  of  sapphire  night. 

Reflected  garniture  of  lacy  cloud 
And  leaflage  tapestry  enchant  the  eyes 
So  deftly  that  a  ravished  spirit  bowed 
In  worship  ere  swift  magic  brought  surprise 
80 


Of  dreams  to  soften  day.    Such  mellow  guise 
Enhances  lattice-work  of  trampled  grass, 
And  violets  whose  sundrenched  leaves  baptize 
The  soul  with  mystery.    Sweet,  cool  morass 
Exhaling    perfume    nought    in    woodland    can 
surpass. 

What  wonder,  thus  attuned  and  thus  adorned 
That  swiftly  flitting  birds  give  pause  and  bend 
A    downward   course;   that   gauzy   wings   have 

scorned 

The  blue,  your  fascination  to  attend 
And  mingle  metal-colorings  that  blend 
Where    clown    turned    mirrored    grassy    stems 

portray 

Your  spirit — like  the  loved  face  of  a  friend 
Reflecting  joy  or  sympathy  to  stay 
O'er   wrought   emotion   with   serene   composing 

ray. 

Oh,  lovely  delicately  rippling  brook, 
Why  leap  ahead  and  haste  for  that  beyond 
With  splashing  eagerness  and  longing  look? 
So,  ardent  youth  impels  the  wizard-wand 
Of  time,  believing  that  the  the  diamond 
Of  life  is  only  held  by  Future's  hour ! 
Do  not  forget  your  present  emerald  frond, 
Your  lily  pearl,  the  ruby  of  your  flower, 
And  darkest  night  made  clear  and  fresh  by  opal 
shower. 

81 


The  evening  luster  of  the  turquoise  sky, 
With  moonstone  set  and  interlacing  jade 
Of  filmy  leaves  are  all  to  glorify! 
Does  memory  of  precious  gems  soon  fade? 
Ah,  youth  is  a  deserting  renegade 
From  even  youth's  delightsomeness,  and  fast 
Your  lovely  water-path  leads  unafraid 
Beyond  the  shielding  mother-banks  and  past 
Protecting  trees  to  reach  the  broader  fields  at 
last. 

Alas,  it  is  beyond  my  power  to  tell 
The  mysteries  you  prattle  openly. 
Tho  only  joy  and  pleasure  seem  to  dwell 
In  you,  you  teach  beguiling  witchery 
Of  childlike  love  and  fresh  philosophy. 
Your  future  qualities  will  surely  steal 
This  honeyed  magic  in  its  purity, 
And  in  the  glassy  depths  of  pools  reveal 
The  deeper  things  which  lightsome  laughter  must 
conceal. 

There  you  will  dream  again  of  winsome  youth — 
Will  clearly  indicate  what  lay  before, 
And  find  the  undercurrent  of  first  truth 
Re-rippling  gently  now  along  the  shore: 
With  silent  undersong  you  will  restore 


82 


The  phantom  hopes  of  men  a  little  while, 
For  you,  with  wisdom  of  a  deeper  lore, 
Will  be  content  to  rest, — evading  guile, 
Inspiring  with  the  courage  of  your  shining  smile. 


TRANSITION 

I  do  not  long  to  be  down  South 
Tho  harsh  the  March  wind  blows 

I  would  not  miss  the  rapid  change 
To  warmth  from  sugar-snows! 

And  even  now  the  yellow  clumps 

Of  crocuses  are  bright 
As  brilliant  oranges  down  there — 

And  Spring  comes  overnight! 


84 


THE  WINDS  OF  THE  DAWNING 

The  winds  of  the  dawning  are  turning  my  feet 

far  astray; 
World-calls  for  my  fingers  and  foosteps  I  cannot 

obey, 
For  something  is  luring  and  urging  to  dreamland 

to-day. 

My  garments  are  billowing  free  in  the  breezes 

that  woo, 
And   I   can  but   follow,  arms  eagerly  reaching 

out,  too, 
To  gather  the  dreams  that  outnumber  the  clouds 

in  the  blue. 

The  world  has  grown  small  and  recedes  in  the 

brilliance  of  light 
Now  shining  in  happy  possession  of  dreams  that 

invite. 
Who  cares  for  material  snares?     It  is  dreams 

that  requite! 


85 


THE  FAIRIES'  PICNIC 

Far  on  the  mountain  the  sun-fays  are  dancing, 
High  in  the  sky  the  cloud-pixie  wings  fly, 

Sparkles,   the    foam-waves,   like   gems   are   en 
hancing, 
Topaz-lights  gleam  from  the  hillside  near  by. 

This  is  the  day  of  the  fairies'  excursion ! 

Nature  is  decked  in  a  festive  array; 
Animals  frolic  to  whispered  coercion — 

Who  does  not  know  it  is  Fairyland  Day? 

Nymphs  and  wee  gnomes,  hand  in  hand,  bend  the 

grasses, 

Sprites  play  their  pranks  with  an  artful  caress : 
There,  through  the  woodland,  the  queen's  car 
riage  passes 
Led  by  old  Pan  piping  on  with  finesse. 

See  them,  come !  Follow  and  join  in  the  revel — 
People  are  stupid  who  veil  wonder-eyes ! 

Come  though  the  breezes  your  calm  may  dishevel, 
This  is  the  day  of  the  fairies'  surprise. 


86 


OLD  SONGS 
RONDEAU 

They  come  and  go — the  songs  we  heard 
When  childhood  played  upon  the  stage: 
I  turn  back  softly  to  that  page 
And  still  recall  each  little  word. 

Sweet  and  clear,  like  note  of  bird 
Or  far  off  echo  from  a  sage 
They  come  and  go. 

My  heart  with  crowding  thoughts  is  stirred 
As  melodies  of  old  engage, — 
Those  lullabys  that  still  assuage ! 
For  when  I  need  uplifting  gird 
They  come  and  go. 


87 


RONDEL  OF  GRATITUDE 

O  God,  how  thankfully  I  read  the  line 
Some  unknown  poet's  flaming  mind  has  made: 
Emotion  deftly  interchanged  is  laid 
Upon  my  restless  heart  and  now  is  mine. 

It  shames  me  when  to  failure  I  incline, 
It  holds  me  high,  and  when  I  am  afraid 

0  God,  how  thankfully  I  read  the  line 
Some  unknown  poet's  flaming  mind  has  made. 

1  long  to  tell  him  how  his  words  entwine 
Themselves  among  my  thoughts  to  give  me  aid 
Yet  he  can  never  know  and  my  crusade 

Of  gratitude  is  lost:  but  at  my  shrine 
O  God,  how  thankfully  I  read  the  line! 


88 


THE  LIGHT 
RONDEAU 

It  shall  be  mine!    My  faithful  search  shall  find, 
Beyond  the  night  by  which  our  eyes  are  blind, 
A  sure  tho  subtle  glimmer  of  the  day 
Which  follows,  ending  darkness.    I  shall  say 
"  Tis  only  night  and  gloom  that  are  unkind !" 

Black  night  has  frightened  me  and  made  my  mind 
Lose  reasoned  poise  as  gropingly  I  wind 
In  frantic  search  of  calming  light !    I  pray 
It  shall  be  mine! 

And  so  it  comes !    White  day  glides  in  behind 
The  baleful  night,  and  now  my  soul  shall  bind 
And  banish  shuddering  terrors  quite  away. 
Oh,  I  will  gather  in  a  roundelay 
Life,giving  light,  and  sing  with  wise  mankind 
"It  shall  be  mine !" 


89 


A  BALLADE  OF  DOERS 

I  wonder  which  is  man's  best  bent? 

To  do  or  be!    For  each  is  free 
To  choose  his  heart's  own  instrument — 

But  while  I,  choosing,  bend  the  knee 

My  song  is  but  a  threnody, 
Or  minor  lay.    I  never  knew 

The  tones  to  make  a  symphony, 
But  I  can  praise  the  ones  who  do. 

The  ones  who  pipe  with  great  portent, 

And  fill  the  world  with  jubilee, 
Have  chosen  life  most  excellent. 

Ah,  some  can  deftly  touch  the  key, 

But  some  of  us  can  only  be! 
Like  shining  love,  I,  too,  would  strew 

The  world  with  songs  of  joy  and  glee — 
But  I  can  praise  the  ones  who  do. 

All  those  who  sing  and  work  are  sent 
To  follow  thus  the  world's  decree. 

Each  tiny  task  with  great  is  blent, 

And  through  man's  toil  the  seers  foresee 
The  earth  a  place  of  heaven's  degree. 

Man's  faithfulness  to  make  us  new! 
Not  all  will  work  for  life's  small  fee, 

But  I  can  praise  the  ones  who  do. 


90 


Dear  persons  all,  whose  work  I  see, 
World  gratitude  goes  out  to  you, 

Oh,  some  of  us  can  only  BE, 

But  I  can  praise  the  ones  who  DO! 


91 


"COUP  DE  GRACE" 

I  played  upon  life's  seashore 
And  chased  the  breakers  out, 

But  when  the  wave  beat  back  at  me 
It  was  a  whelming  rout ! 

If  I  had  known  how  fruitless 
To  fight  against  the  tide, 

I  should  have  saved  myself  the  rout- 
But  would  have  clung  to  pride. 


92 


FAR  AS  THE  DREAM  OF  SPACE 

i 

We  do  not  always  think  in  words. 

Ideas  flit  across  the  brain  like  birds 

And  like  them  rise  above  on  wings 

That  do  not  even  touch  the  names  of  things ! 

High,  fundamental,  vision  free. — 

These  are  the  flights  I  need  to  make  me  see. 


SUMMER  RAIN 

The  tender  threnody  of  steady  rain 
Blends  music  pathos  with  the  heart's  own  pain ; 
And  earthy  fragrancy  of  growing  things 
Surrounds  old  hurts  with  new-born  offerings. 


94 


A  GOLDEN  DAY 

Arise !    Now  comes  the  scintillating  day 
Between  the  gray  October  gales  that  blow! 

Come  singing, — lift  your  hearts  from  grief  and 
know 

That  you  must  take  the  sunshine  path  of  play 

To  find  the  glory-thoughts  that  wing  their  way 
On    kissing,    clinging    winds, — gay   thoughts, 

that  go 
A-dancing  through  the  slanting  beams  below 

And  climb  the  trees  to  find  the  highest  ray! 

Awake,  my  heart,  look  up  and  meet  the  thought 
Of  God  that  fills  the  air  with  glory-strewn 

Delight !  The  colored  leaves,  unasked,  unbought, 
Like  flaming  fires  of  unknown  things,  com 
mune 

With  autumn's  rich  conceit  and  thus  is  wrought 
A  golden  day  far  lovelier  than  June. 


95 


TO  A  NOVEMBER  ROSE 

Brave  little,  bright  little  autumn  rose, 
Holding  your  head  up  in  wintry  snows ! 
Battered  leaves  sodden  and  cheerless  and  gray — 
You  are  still  crimson,  royally  gay. 

Shadows  depressing  and  all  gone  awry! 
Where  is  the  sunshine,  where  is  the  sky? 
Everything  dull  and  so  crisp  and  so  cold, 
But  there  you  are  shining  in  velvet  and  gold. 

Sadly  I  study  the  garden's  grim  mood, 
Perfectly  matching  my  own  solitude, 
And  I  shrink  from  myself  and  the  garden,  too, 
But  red  little  rose,  I  am  drawn  to  you. 


96 


WISHES 

I  like  to  feel  the  snow-flakes  gently  fall  upon 

my  face. 
Like  butterflies  they  flutter,  whirl  and  turn  and 

interlace, 
Till  finally  some  blow  my  way  and  light  with 

winning  grace. 

I  like  to  think  that  they  are  whimsey  wishes  of 

my  friends 
With  glowing  light  and  goodly  cheer;  that  this 

wee  flake  portends 
Ideal   joy,  and  that  one  during  ills  can  make 

amends. 

As  clear  as  crystal  comes  each  floating  wish  with 

pure  intent, 
Sun-bright  while  drifting  high  in  air — a  dancing 

blandishment, 
And  warm  good-will  can  make  insensate  wraith 

seem  true  event. 

Exalting  wishes  everywhere,  these  shining  flakes 

now  stilled ! 
They   wrap  the   dreary  landscape   in   a   lustral 

snow-white  gild 
To  indicate  the  splendor — if  their  wish  could  be 

fulfilled ! 

97 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 

O  the  sweep  of  the  wide  open  prairie, 
That  invites  like  the  heart  of  a  friend, 

With  the  roll  and  incline  of  the  coulee 
And  the  freedom  of  limitless  end ! 

O  the  lift  of  immensities'  distance, 
The  curve  of  the  wide  circling  skies, 

Pure  ozone  that  blows  from  the  foothills 
With  a  clear  and  refreshing  surprise ! 

How  the  feet  of  my  horse  create  music, 
Like  a  swinging  and  rythmical  song, 

While  the  beat  of  my  heart's  supreme  fervor 
Learns  love  as  we  lope,  lope  along ! 

For  the  life  of  my  soul  was  in  bondage; 

It  had  never  known  where  to  expand — 
But  lo,  on  the  prairie  unbounded 

It  can  splendidly  grow  to  command! 


98 


A  CITY— PASSING  GLIMPSE 

The  tops  of  buildings  and  a  tall  church  spire 
Against  the  misty  hills  which  make  a  frame 
Encircled   round  a   town!     Who   knows  the 
name, 

Or  cares  to  know?    Illusion's  gift  seems  higher 

Than  history  and  lifts  the  vision  nigher 
Renown  than  other  sites  of  greater  fame. 
The  halls  reflect  the  sun  in  flash  of  flame 

And  with  their  beauty  set  my  heart  afire. 

It  is  a  city  folded  to  the  heart 

Of  noble  constant  hills.     To  man  a  home, 
Built  steadfastly  with  love  as  guiding  chart, 

And  when  I  see  the  central  looming  dome 
It  holds  a  thought  uplifted  and  apart — 

Lo,  for  the  hour,  as  great  as  ancient  Rome. 


99 


TO  A  NIGHTHAWK  ON  THE  WING 

Oh,  nightly  flying  bird  in  heaven's  high  arching 

blue, 

I  watch  you  circle  far  and  strangely  soar, 
Or  stop  in  sudden  turning — crying  hoarse  halloo, 
To    downward    drop    and    then    your    flight 
restore. 

I  wait  for  evening's  twilight  glow  to  hear  the 
whirr 

That  stirs  an  after  silence  in  your  wake, 
And  with  you  I  would  be,  a  winged  adventurer, 

Your  perfect  poise  and  madness  to  partake. 

Wide  wings  can  beat  against  the  shadowed  azure 

sky 

So  swiftly  that  my  eyes  can  scarce  pursue; 
But  thought,  more  swift  than  fleetest  wings,  can 

onward  fly 
And  with  your  dusky  path  keep  rendezvous. 

Although  your  winging  joy  to  mortals  is  not 

given, 

The  rapture  of  the  spirit's  peerless  flight 
Is  symbol  of  the  day  when,  swift,  the  soul  is 

riven 

From  earth-bound   time   to  know   your   free 
delight. 

100 


SOUND  FROM  SILENT  NIGHT 

When    depth    of    night    comes    drifting    down 
through  space 

And  darkness  touches  everything, 
Deep  quiet  creeps  along  earth's  phantom  face 

With  tentacles  of  sleep  that  cling. 

But  when  the  night  charm  broods  in  that  dim 
hour, 

Awake,  O  mystic  groping  soul, — 
'Tis  then  that  God  seems  nearest  in  His  power, 

And  magic  sounds  through  silence  roll! 

What  is  that  soft  vibration  in  the  air? 

Some  wind-wave,  wireless  telegraph, 
Some  far  off  fog-horn  booming  its  rude  blare, 

Or  gnomes  who  in  the  darkness  laugh? 

Is  it  a  meteor  fallen  in  its  sleep 

With  distant  cataclysmic  crash? 
Or  waves  of  ether  in  the  open  deep, 

Or  clinking  trails  when  comets  clash? 

Perhaps  Aurora,  in  a  chariot  drawn, 

Is  rumbling  high  in  astral  space! 
Perhaps  it  is  the  matin  song  of  dawn, 

Or  moonmen  from  their  lunar  place! 


101 


Nay,  none  of  these :  I  hear  the  sound  anew — 

The  echo  of  the  Holy  One 
Who  passes  through  the  heavens  to  review 

Each  God-made  brilliant  starry  sun ! 

It  was  not  some  delusive  sound  I  heard 

For  wavelets  tell  it  to  the  shore, 
The  leaves  repeat  it  to  the  trees,  the  bird 

Trills  in  the  darkness  to  adore. 

A  trembling  joy  awakens  to  respond 
And  out  of  hearts  true  worship  flows. 

Oh,  faint  conception  of  that  One  beyond 

Whose  endless  might  and  power — who  knows  ? 


102 


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